


The Trials of Aziraphale

by The_Bentley



Series: Transformations 'Verse [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Blood, Protective Aziraphale, Sex, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-02-27 17:56:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18744151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: Someone took Crowley.  Big mistake.  Aziraphale is willing to tear Heaven apart to get his demon back.  The question is will it come to that?





	1. Every Garden Needs a Serpent

**Author's Note:**

> It's a stand-alone, but if you want more details on Crowley's status, read the last chapter of "Falling with Grace," the first work in this series. 
> 
> And yes, this is the second idea that came to me when I asked the question, "What if Crowley got kidnapped?" I wrote a funnier one chapter story earlier. This is the longer, more dramatic one as I'm trying to improve my writing in both longer stories and ones that aren't humorous.
> 
> I'm using the miniseries timeline for the Apocalypse, which has been said to take place in 2018. That way I can be a little more modern. :)
> 
> The sexy stuff will come with the falling action. I just thought I'd go ahead and list it now because I will forget to edit tags, etc. later.
> 
> I'm new at this whole fanfic thing, so constructive criticism that'll help me improve future writings is much appreciated.

It felt weird at first, this new life.  No big city bustle.  No jostling crowds as you walked down the pavement.  No waiting in line just to buy a cup of coffee.  But also no fun places to go at night.  No fashion-filled stores to shop in.  No places to hunt down rare books you coveted.  No uber-fancy restaurants to lunch at if the whim took you.  Just quiet, the sea, a cottage large enough to hold a decent-sized library of rare books and a big, overgrown garden just begging to be bullied back into shape.  Crowley wondered if he could handle such a laid-back, slow-paced life after centuries of his faster-paced one in London.  Aziraphale didn’t seem too concerned about making the transition, but he lived his life more or less ensconced in that bookshop of his, only really venturing out to do the job Heaven required of him and to spend time with Crowley.  In the end, it didn’t take either of them long to adjust to country life, mostly because Aziraphale really had no transition to make while Crowley was unconsciously finding it harder to return each night to a flat where his instinct to survive had been stretched to such lengths that he had discorporated another demon there in his own office in self-defense.  He found he could no longer live with those ghosts.

But today a well-adjusted Crowley dug in his garden, enjoying the feel of turning over the neglected beds and bringing them back to life with all kinds of plant life.  What he favored in the flowerbeds were mostly darker colored blooms, but the occasional brightly colored flower made the cut and kept the plantings from seeming overly somber.  He wasn’t trying to create a funeral look here.

The front beds were more formal since they added to the curb appeal of the cottage, even though Crowley expected few visitors and the neighbors were far enough away their houses couldn’t been seen from the garden.  Unlike Aziraphale, who didn’t mind disorganization, Crowley took neat freak to an art form, making sure everything in his space was tidy, organized within an inch of its life.  The front garden was perfectly laid in accordance with how he liked things.  Not a flower was out of place, or a weed to be seen, although it helped that the demon didn’t always have to resort to manually weeding the beds.  This sense of order was different from the unlived-in tidiness of his Mayfair flat.  This order was one that was very much alive and vibrant and carried with it a sense of purpose rather than just to appear to be a human of a certain kind of status.   

He finished up with the spade, taking it back to the enormous garden shed out back.  A tang was in the wind as it blew off the ocean below him.  He looked out over the back garden at the beauty of the wild, unorganized field that led downhill to their private patch of beach.  Maybe there was something to be said about things that didn’t grow in regimented rows and patterns.  Maybe back here he’d plant a garden of native plants, seeds just scattered on the dirt to come up where they may.  It would complement the rough but beautiful field that stretched out until it met the sand of the beach.  Regimented and landscaped just didn’t seem to fit with this untamed expanse. 

He wanted an orchard.  Maybe over there, to the east of the house where there was nothing but blowing grass.  He mentioned this to Aziraphale, who had appeared suddenly at his side carrying a cup of cocoa, his footfalls soft in the grass. 

“My dear, you don’t even like apples,” the angel said as he surveyed the proposed orchard area, the wind blowing through his short, blond curls.

“They’re pretty good when they’re fermented.  Maybe I’ll make wine out of them.  Or cider.  And there are more kinds of fruit than apples, angel.  I’ll see what’ll grow in this environment,” Crowley indicated the mug of steaming cocoa with his chin.  “Did you make me one?”

“No, I didn’t.  You do so get into your gardening so I didn’t see the point.  I would have been happy to make you one when you came in.”

“What do you think about a vegetable garden?”  Crowley asked as they walked towards the back door leading into the kitchen.

“What are you going to do with those?  You only eat take out or at restaurants.”

“Well, part of why I’m here is to figure myself out.  Maybe I’m someone who likes home cooked meals.”

Aziraphale opened the kitchen door, entered and held it for Crowley who lagged a bit behind since he took a moment to examine the flowerbed along the side of the cottage.  “You’re going to have to learn to cook, then.” 

The kitchen was a mix of English cottage and modern convenience with its state-of-the-art appliances, warm wooden cabinets and tile floor of warm, beige flagstone patterns.  The fridge was filled with gourmet foods, the wine racks Aziraphale’s favorite vintages and the old oak kitchen table stacked neatly with seed catalogs and a couple of old volumes from the bookshop.  The only appliance used so far was the stove to heat the kettle for cocoa or tea when one of them felt like doing it by hand rather than by miracle.  The two of them had either skipped meals since they didn’t require them, or had driven up to village to check out the cafes there when the mood to eat took them.

It was a resort town, so the pickings were far from slim, if you could tolerate the tourists.

“Maybe I will,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale just sighed as he exited for the sitting room. 

Crowley’s furniture from his flat resided in there, wished into a different color and shape by the demon after he decided angular, ultra-modern white leather clashed with the more rustic feel of the cottage’s interior.  They were still modern in look, but were a more rounded, overstuffed chocolate leather that one swore one would be swallowed up by once seated on the cushions.  Aziraphale didn’t have much more than an old, moth-eaten comfy chair of an indeterminate pattern he kept in the backroom of the bookshop for relaxing in with a good book and the scuffed table with matching straight-backed chairs he and Crowley used when they decided to sit back there to get utterly drunk rather than head out.  Crowley refused to allow any of it in the cottage.  Aziraphale now had a light blue leather reading chair that complimented the dark brown leather sofa and loveseat, even though he was eyeing a rather handsome-looking second option, in his opinion at least.  It was a nice beige tartan chair that was enough to make Crowley roll his eyes so hard behind his sunglasses Aziraphale could feel him do so.  Crowley suspected that he’d go back to the furniture store for that overstuffed tartan number to put in the bedroom he turned into a library.  But if Crowley didn’t have to look at it, he didn’t care.  He just wished one of these days Aziraphale would be able to pull his head out of the 1950s and place it firmly in the present.

Aziraphale, for his part, put his foot down when it came to the ambient lighting Crowley had in his flat.  It was difficult enough to get the modern leather furniture to look right in the sitting room of a quaint cottage.  It would have really been stretching things to ridiculous to have LED tubes casually lining the walls or small spotlights strategically accenting the fireplace.  Aziraphale instead found some homey lamps that both agreed looked well with the strange style they were creating.  Despite his ambient lighting being nixed, Crowley’s entertainment system was very much welcome.  They had both gotten into watching films while relaxing comfortably on the couches, so there were no objections when Crowley brought it along.  This time, he remembered to install speakers. 

It all worked out.  Surprisingly, the flashy leather couches and contemporary glass tables complimented the ancient walls and hardwood floors of the cottage.  A fluffy rug that reminded Crowley of the plush carpet in his flat helped pull things together nicely.  Plus the shelves full of Aziraphale’s Regency silver snuffboxes somehow didn’t look out of place at all amongst the modern technology.  The mantle above the unused fireplace remained empty.  Neither of them could figure out what to place there.

Crowley followed on Aziraphale’s heels, a steaming cup of cocoa in his hands.  He planted himself on the couch next to Aziraphale’s chair and took a sip, followed by a sour looking face.  He set the cup down, picking up the remote instead. 

“Something wrong with it?” Aziraphale’s blue eyes looked up from the book he had just started to get into. 

Crowley shrugged as he flipped through a hundred useless channels magicked on to the television from all over the world.  “It tastes better when you make it.”

Without missing a beat, the angel touched a finger to the top of the steaming mug sitting on the side table, then resumed his reading as if this was a common occurrence, which it was.  “Better?”

Crowley nodded as he took a gulp.  Heat was no issue for someone who spent part of his life living in Hell itself.  The television flickered a bit as Crowley settled in, cradling his mug of cocoa.  His thoughts had wandered to a particular film he wanted to watch, so the television naturally obliged him.  Being an occult being did have advantages.  There would have been no room for a radio in his Bentley if it didn’t. 

“I don’t understand why you can’t miracle up a perfect cup of cocoa, my dear.  It defies logic.”

Crowley didn’t care he couldn’t as long as Aziraphale was willing to do it for him.  He sighed, sinking even further into the overstuffed couch, allowing the cushions to almost swallow him.  It was strange to feel so content.  He never realized how being under Hell’s thumb had affected him all this time, but now that he didn’t have that lot of sadistic bullies breathing down his neck, he found life carried a lot more pleasure than he thought possible.  He rather enjoyed relaxing, working in the garden, driving the Bentley into town for breakfast with Aziraphale, just flat-out _living._   He’d even relaxed a bit when it came to the houseplants.  Crowley was no longer receiving a steady stream of abuse from his superiors who had just stopped contacting him after the failed Apocalypse; therefore the plants were no longer receiving a steady stream of abuse from him.  If foliage could breathe a sigh of relief, every plant in the cottage would have. 

But he wasn’t afraid to still tell them he’d toss them out in to the ocean if they dared drop leaves on the beautiful hardwood flooring.  The number of shed leaves he had to sweep up soon was reduced to zero.    

Contented, he laid his head against the back of the couch with his golden eyes closed and just felt the happiness inside of him for a moment.  Sitting on the couch drinking cocoa and mindlessly watching some stupid film after a day of gardening while Aziraphale sat next him completely absorbed by his latest book was nothing short of pure heaven.


	2. Shape Shifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sinister magic stalks Crowley intent on causing him harm.

Pure heaven continued day after day, made even better by Crowley’s completely unexpected release from the clutches of Hell, one demon among many who didn’t belong there anymore.  Since he no longer was out there tempting, Aziraphale’s job description changed.  He now was in charge of keeping an eye on humanity’s progress and the occasional mission.  His days of thwarting ended with Crowley’s days of wiling.  Hell had never sent up a replacement to anyone’s knowledge.  It was as if they decided it was easier to just send up demons to cause trouble once in a while rather than risk another one of them going native again by living permanently on the planet.

Life moved on.  Crowley’s constant need to update his electronic devices and add new plants to his gardens hadn’t slackened, and Aziraphale’s ever-growing collection of books now spilled out into a niche bookshop in town that was rarely open.  Crowley fiddled with his iPhone when he was bored while Aziraphale finally learned enough about the internet to hunt down the rare books he coveted, although he still carried a flip phone as his mobile instead of something modern with all the bells and whistles.  Crowley wouldn’t let him hear the end of it even though the only reason Aziraphale had a mobile was to keep in touch with Crowley when he was running errands.

“I don’t need much, my dear,” Aziraphale said.  “Especially since we’re pretty much keeping to ourselves.”

As much as both wanted to get to know the neighbors better, they decided it just wasn’t going to happen without having to field the awkward questions immortals received when living amongst those with shorter lifespans, like why they never seemed to age.  Besides, Crowley tended to have trouble when a human he knew well died, more so than Aziraphale who mourned briefly, but ultimately considered deaths to be part of the ineffable Plan.  The ex-demon long ago decided to keep humans at arm’s length, even though he did find them a fascinating species.  The emotional toll was just too difficult to manage.  He found it ironic that he was the emotional one while Aziraphale took it in stride.  Angels, although on the side of good, seemed to always be a little bit removed from humanity’s situation.   

Still, both were content with life, even if all they had was each other.  That’s how it had been for six millennia and it had become comfortable.  Unfortunately, “comfortable” has a way of taking a vacation every once in a while, especially when one has been around since the beginning of time.

It started out, stereotypically enough, like almost every other day since they had settled in here a few years ago.  Aziraphale, who after being sorely pestered about it, had finally allowed Crowley teach him to drive, took off for a morning at his bookshop in his Mini, which was as practical as Crowley’s Bentley was exotic. 

Crowley decided to stay at home to plant some bare root roses that been delivered yesterday.  They were a dark, velvety red color that would perfectly complement the creamy, off white ones he planted on the side of the cottage two years ago.  Once he was finished, the plan was for him to meet Aziraphale in town for lunch.

Feeling lazy, Crowley used his powers to wish both the buckets with the soaking roses and gardening tools over to the bed.  He was going to have to dig a hole anyway, why waste extra energy carrying them when it wasn’t needed?  He did consider wishing himself up some perfect holes, but he found out early on that he actually enjoyed the physical labor that went into tending his gardens.  It was quite a change from the fast-living demon who vainly lived the luxury-filled existence of a _bon viveur_.  Today he had exchanged his more formal attire for a Queen t-shirt and pair of skinny jeans so tight your average human wouldn’t think it possible to garden in them.  Of course, they also wouldn’t think it possible to garden without getting so much as the smallest speck of dirt under your fingernails, but they didn’t possess Crowley’s powers. 

He enjoyed pretending to be human, but in the end, he enjoyed more the benefits that came with being _him_.

Mission accomplished.  Deep red roses that hopefully would grow enough to bloom this year now sat amongst the soft, off-white ones starting to come to life in the warm, spring air.  Crowley vaguely considered putting a trellis between the two windows that graced the center portion of this side of the cottage as he headed to the shed to put his tools away.  He stopped to lean against it after hanging them in their proper places, eyes shut, cool sea breeze tangy in his face.  He felt free; freer now in the last couple of years than he had in the last six thousand.  With a contented sigh, he turned to head out to the orchard to check on the trees, whose bare branches were starting to sprout buds, went rigid and fell forward into absolute blackness.

 

~*~*~

 

Aziraphale looked worriedly at the slightly dusty clock on the wall by the door of the bookshop.  He was late.  Crowley was nothing if not punctual to their lunch dates.  The angel kept an ear out for the purr of the Bentley’s engine coming up the street, but only modern cars passed by the bookshop.  Time ticked away without any sight or sound of the ex-demon.  Aziraphale picked up his mobile and dialed.

 

~*~*~

 

Crowley snapped his golden eyes open with a gasp, writhing on the ground as the desire to find the source of the strong, magical call that compelled him to follow it raced through his body.  Involuntarily, his beautiful, silvery wings burst into the physical plane, tearing large holes in his t-shirt.  They flapped clumsily of their own free will, but Crowley’s body did not lift off the ground.  He laid there, hands outstretched and grasping at the newly awakened grass, ripping up large chunks of it up by the roots as the pain hit him like train, his body hyperventilating despite not needing the oxygen. 

He screamed before dropping his head on the ground beside his broken sunglasses, going still as his human-like form shimmered then became something smaller, thinner in a desperate attempt to protect him from the strong magic that had hit him.


	3. Serpentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has taken to his snake form after being hit by strong magic, but he's not acting like himself.

“Crowley?”  Aziraphale had parked his Mini carefully next to the Bentley and raced worriedly up the front walkway to the door.  There was no reply from the sitting room or kitchen and the bedrooms stood empty.  Racing out the back door, Aziraphale found the recently planted roses, but no sign of Crowley.  A trip around the back of the house yielded nothing until he turned on his heel and stepped on the broken stem of Crowley’s sunglasses there in the ripped up grass.  Heart in his throat, Aziraphale bent to examine the damaged turf as he picked up the pieces of his friend’s glasses.  What had happened?  Did some rogue faction of either Heaven or Hell come after the former demon?  Fearing the worst, Aziraphale forced himself to calm down to search for clues to Crowley’s whereabouts.

Although the chances of anyone being around this isolated paradise of theirs was incredibly slim, Aziraphale glanced around him before bringing his wings into the physical world.  Unfurling them towards the sky, he used the blinding white appendages’ connection to the celestial plane to amplify his magic.  Gathering all the power he could, he sent tendrils of it out to find any trace of what had happened here.  The results did not disappoint.

“Summoning magic?”  Aziraphale went cold.  One Summoning text was known to exist in the world and Michael had dispatched a few angelic covert operatives to hunt it down and destroy it in the Middle Ages.  How did someone . . .?  Was there a secret copy floating around out there?  Could Crowley even be Summoned now that he wasn’t exactly a demon anymore?  Finally, who?  Did Hell put some gullible human up to this or did a human do it on their own in an attempt to control a demon? 

Another tendril tugged at him.  He turned and detected Crowley’s aura.  It was weak, primal, feeling nothing like the aura of an angel or a demon, as if his body had done everything in its power to camouflage him.  Rushing towards the back gardens, Aziraphale homed in on it low in the grass only to encounter a beautiful green snake with sky blue dorsal markings and piercing golden eyes looking up at him from the base of a crabapple tree.

“Crowley?”  There was no response, but the snake held his gaze for some time before slithering closer.  Aziraphale held out his arm and the python-like creature wound himself around it.  Breaking into a faster run than most would think possible for someone of the angel’s body type, Aziraphale sprinted for the cottage.

Fifteen minutes later, the snake was lying curled up on the kitchen table basking in the sunlight streaming in from the nearby window.  In the sitting room all the furniture had been pushed aside, the rug uprooted, instead replaced by a chalk circle of complicated sigils surrounded by lighted candles Aziraphale was very careful about this time around.  A bright white-blue light filtered down from on high bathing Aziraphale, who was standing in the center of the chalk circle, explaining what had happened the best he could to the angel on the other end.

“. . . That’s the situation right now.  I do need Raphael down here badly, so please send on my message.”

He got assurance that it would be passed on, then busied himself blowing out the candles before he inadvertently burned down yet another building that was important to him. 

After an agonizing wait that seemed like a lifetime, there was a knock at the front door.  Aziraphale hurried to answer it and ushered a tall angel wearing a blue polo shirt and tan trousers into the kitchen.

“Can I get you anything, my dear chap?”

“No thanks, Aziraphale.  Just let me see the snake.”

Aziraphale pointed to the coils on the kitchen table.  The coils unraveled enough to reveal a head that hissed angrily at Raphael.  The Archangel cocked a wry eyebrow at the serpent, before looking at Aziraphale.

“You sure it’s him?”

“Yes.  It’s not like green tree pythons are found in the wild in England.  They’re a tropical snake.”

Raphael shrugged, still skeptical.  “Ok, then.  I hope I can get close enough to examine him, but I don’t know what I’m going to be able to detect.  I’m not a vet.”

“And he’s technically not a snake.”

“I’m well aware what he is.  But his form is neither angel nor human right now.”  Carefully Raphael approached the snake’s head, sending calming waves of his magic towards the creature.  The ploy worked and the snake relaxed, no longer in a striking pose.  A lazy tongue flickered out as Raphael squinted and muttered a few words here and there, walking around the table as he did so.  Occasionally he’d stroke the snake’s back, brow furrowed in thought.

“That’s your demon all right.”

Aziraphale nodded, ignoring that Raphael called Crowley his.  “Then why is he acting more like an actual snake than himself?  He’s only been in serpent form a few times in the six thousand years I’ve known him, but it’s always been just a change in shape.  He’s still himself.” 

Crowley, released from Raphael’s calming magic, slithered up Aziraphale’s arm while glaring balefully at the Archangel.  “You’re ok, my dear.  We’ll figure this out,” the Principality soothed.

Raphael took a seat at the kitchen table.  With a lazy wave of his hand, he miracled himself a cup of caramel macchiato.  Aziraphale took a seat as well, although a little more clumsily since he was carrying extra weight in the form of Crowley.  A cup of perfectly made tea appeared in front of him. 

Raphael’s dark blue eyes met Aziraphale’s sky blue ones.  “This is serious.  I’m detecting Summoning magic trying to get at your demon.  I can’t tell you much more than that about the magic itself and I wish Vada hadn’t have Fallen.  She was absolutely amazing at Tracking spells.  Avira is our best now and she is very, very good, but she’s on a covert mission to track down a demon who is possessing kids in the United States.”  He ran his fingers through his longish, dark hair in frustration.  “You’re stuck with me unless we can find someone else.  Unfortunately my deep knowledge of dark magic is limited to what I need to know to heal.”

Aziraphale spread his plump hands.  “What can you tell me?  Why is Crowley’s aura so weak and primitive?  Why is he acting more like a snake than himself?” 

“I’m just going to be blunt here, Aziraphale,” replied Raphael as he sipped at his drink.  “I don’t know what’s going on for sure.  We’re certainly in uncharted territory here, given Crowley’s circumstances.  Gabriel briefed me on the situation here.  We have here an angel who Fell because the ineffable Plan needed someone in place to get certain things done.  So what is he exactly if he never lost the Grace?  Is he still an angel?  A demon with His Blessing?  And if he was put in Hell as a double agent, why did he feel the need to get humans, and by association us, kicked out of Eden?”

“Raphael, you have to understand he was under the impression he was a demon, not some angel in disguise.  I suspect the Grace didn’t tell him because it wanted him protected.  If Hell found out otherwise, they would have put him away in some dungeon in the deepest pit they could find just so they could spend eternity subjecting him to the worst torture they could think up.  He acted like a demon because he thought he was one.  He followed orders just like all of us on either side have to.  Believe me; nobody was more surprised at the Exile than Crowley.  He didn’t understand why He would take knowing the difference between good and evil so seriously.  And now we suspect, thanks to the new information on Crowley’s role, that that was supposed to happen in the first place.

“Yes, Man was meant to Fall.  For some reason that’s how it had to be.  We can’t understand it, my dear, but we can accept it.  As for what Crowley is . . . Hell agreed to release him and he chose not to work for Heaven, so I assume he’s considered neither truly an angel nor a demon, but a supernatural being.   He’s no longer on either side.  Can you blame him?  He got used badly by both sides and it left him bitter.  He no longer tempts; I no longer have to thwart him.  It’s been nice to just concentrate on our friendship rather than each other’s moves, to be honest.  Now let’s just get down to the business of getting him back to normal,” Aziraphale stared down the Archangel, challenging him to defy a word he said.  The snake on his shoulder fixed him with an almost sentient stare.  “Now, can you tell me what happened to my friend here?  Why is he acting more like a snake than himself?”

Raphael conceded, “Ok.  I’ll help, but I’m not going to trust him.  Demons don’t just become non-demonic.” 

He paused a moment.  “Ok, here’s what I know.  Crowley’s in that snake, but his conscious self is buried pretty deep in the snake’s mind.  I think some of it is leaking to the surface, given how he’s been hostile towards me but friendly towards you.  I didn’t directly interact with Crowley when he was an angel, but I know he never trusted me or a couple of the other Archangels.”

Crowley shifted a bit with a hiss as if he understood down deep in his serpent brain what Raphael was saying.  Aziraphale absently stroked his back to pacify him.

Raphael shot the snake a withering look before continuing.  “I think the reason for him going full-on snake like that is to keep the spell at bay.  If his aura’s dim and his true consciousness well-hidden, it won’t be able to find and transport him.  Or it may be saving his life.  If he’s not fully demon anymore, the spell may accidentally kill him when it tries to do its thing.  I’d like to know what happened when he got hit with it, but we can’t exactly talk to him.”

The Archangel drummed his fingers on the wood of the table top lost in thought for a moment.  “I have an idea.  It might be a risk, but I might be able to open a small tunnel between us and his demon consciousness using a mind healing exercise.  He’ll still be mostly snake on the surface, but at least he’ll be able to understand us, and hopefully communicate in some way.  If I open too big of a tunnel, the Summoning magic will be able to home in on it and take him God knows where.  I’ll need a good Tracker because I can’t tell where the spell’s coming from, myself.  So we’re going to have to recruit someone and let another angel in on Crowley’s secret.  I don’t like doing that.  The more that know the truth, the more it could get to someone who’d rather see him permanently disabled than accept he’s not on the other side anymore.  I’m having enough trouble myself . . . I just want to just smite that snake.” 

Aziraphale nodded.  “I understand.  But you’d better make sure it’s one of the more open-minded Trackers and keep your own self-control.  I won’t have him harmed.”

“I don’t get your friendship with that demon, Aziraphale.  Being on this planet has changed you.  Anyway . . . I’ll find someone.  Give me a day, hopefully less.  I’d rather wait to do the tunnel until we have a Tracker who can detect where this spell is coming from if it decides to attack.  Also shield Crowley from harm.”

“Raphael?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I trust you?”

“Yes.  I won’t do anything to harm Crowley.  If I do, Gabriel promised he’d remove my primaries in the most painful way possible and let Michael fletch his arrows with them.”

Angel wings were very sensitive.  Promising to pluck out primary feathers was no small threat.

With that, Raphael was gone.  Aziraphale headed to the sitting room to wave the furniture and rug back into place.  He turned his head to look the best he could at the snake twined around his neck as the couches settled back into their proper places.  “I guess we wait now, my dear.  I hope you don’t mind if I read a bit.”

He settled down in his much-used reading chair with the slightly dusty first edition of some author long forgotten to time, taking a moment to miracle his hands extremely clean before touching his most recent acquisition.  Aziraphale loved finding antique copies of obscure books by unknown writers that had sat unread on some abandoned shelf for years.  Books were meant to be loved; he viewed reading a previously forgotten work as an act of affection.  But it wasn’t often he showed a book some love with a brilliant green snake wrapped around his neck like a scarf, tongue flickering out to pick up the scents of the old pages and faded ink.

“Now Crowley, I don’t know where you’ve been, so please, stay off the book.  You’ll get dirt on it.” he readjusted his long burden which was slithering curiously towards it.  He realized how lonely this ordeal was going to be when he didn’t get a sarcastic remark in return.  Sending a little prayer Up Above that this will all end quickly, he turned the pages to the first chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of the first work in this series deals more extensively with how Crowley ended up a neutral party under the protection of Heaven if you're interested in more details. But here's the short version:
> 
> * Crowley Fell so that two key things could happen -- Humans would get kicked out of Eden and he'd misplace the Antichrist, who'd then have a normal childhood and not want to end the world.  
> * He's not truly a demon. He's more of a double agent who was unaware of his status. He's not happy about it, either.  
> * Heaven worked out a deal to get Hell to release him. They wanted him back, but Crowley doesn't want to have a thing to do with either side anymore, so he's basically a neutral supernatural being.  
> * He's got a contract with Heaven that they'll never go after him and that they'll protect him if Hell decides to get revenge.


	4. Ties That Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's trying to harm Crowley?

The pain was gone.  In fact, Crowley couldn’t feel anything.  He opened up his eyes to discover himself lying face down in an entirely white environment instead of on the grass and dirt he fell upon.  Raising his head he felt a twinge of irritation of finding himself dumped again in a completely white room.  This was just like when Heaven decided to whisk him up to Gabriel’s office for a little talk about how he really wasn’t a demon, but a divine double agent.  The room blossomed into varying shades of red at his emotions.

_Interesting._

The room muted to warm beige upon his thought.  He tried on a few more emotions watching the colors shift as he did so – yellow, red, green, blue, a strange shade of purple.   Slowly piecing it together, he imagined a door in the wall beside him leading out into the areas beyond this bland cubicle.  One materialized without too much effort on his part.  Grasping the door knob, he opened it and walked through into a mind he hadn’t felt in thousands of years.  More primitive than his own sophisticated demon mind.  Cold-blooded.  Patient beyond years.  Serpentine.

_Well hello, old friend.  It’s been a while since I’ve been your shape._

Crowley was a bit puzzled why he seemed to be a passenger in his own body rather than just being the serpent like was usual.  It had to do with the attack, he was sure of that.  But not being in control was just not an option.  He needed to try to gain at least some back so he could start to figure out what exactly had happened and why it resulted in this particular outcome.  On two occasions many centuries ago, he had, quite distastefully, possessed receptive humans when he had become inconveniently discorporated during extremely important missions that needed to be completed.  Luckily he still possessed the knowledge needed to take over the consciousness.  It had to be similar on a reptile, although probably a lot less complicated. 

How he and his body came to be two different entities was a problem he’d work on as soon as he got control of things.  Clamoring upwards, he headed towards the center of the snake’s mind that contained the consciousness.  Upon reaching it, he slowly felt forward, attempting to grab a hold of the critical areas that would allow him to fit into the body like a hand sliding into a glove.  Rejection met him.  Rejection and a panicked, wordless message from his own subconscious that said it was imperative he stayed hidden in the depths of the serpent’s mind or he would be in extreme danger. 

Startled, Crowley backed off.  What was it that hit him and why was his own subconscious warning him like that?  Pushing down feelings of dread and panic, he contented himself with hooking tentatively into his body’s senses so at least he could see, hear and maybe figure out what was going on without exposing himself to whatever was looking for him.  He found his body had settled sleepily around Aziraphale’s neck.  The angel appeared to be reading in the sitting room, but his heart wasn’t really into it.  He observed him fidgeting in his chair and frequently staring up at the antique clock on the wall as if impatient about something.  Crowley hoped this was an indication that Aziraphale was waiting for help with the situation.  With not much to do until that help arrived, if it was coming at all, the former demon settled in, waited quietly and eventually the boredom lulled him into a light sleep.

 

~*~*~

 

Raphael stood on the front stoop with a short, slim angel with purple-streaked blonde hair wearing a flowered maxi dress covered by a fashionable cardigan.  Aziraphale resisted the urge to reach over and button it up like a proper cardigan should be.  Instead he ushered them into the sitting room.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, my dear girl,” he addressed Raphael’s companion.

“I’m Avira.  It’s nice to meet you, Aziraphale.”

“And it’s lucky for Crowley that she had just returned from tracking that demon in the States,” added Raphael.  “She’s been briefed on the whole situation.  She’s given her word that she’ll keep his status a secret.”

Avira gave Aziraphale such a warm, genuine smile that he believed she would keep her word.  Angels though they may be, some amongst the various Choirs wouldn’t be so trustworthy with information about a former Enemy.  He invited both of them to sit down so discussions could begin.  Avira took a seat on the far side of the dark brown leather couch, her feet barely touching the rug beneath them.  Raphael sprawled on the matching loveseat.  Of course, Aziraphale sat himself primly in his reading chair.

“Where is Snakey Boy anyway?” asked Raphael.  “I’ll need to eventually examine him again.”

“ _Crowley_ is sunning himself in the kitchen,” replied Aziraphale, hoping the emphasis on Crowley’s name would remind Raphael to actually use it.  When Crowley’s snake body wasn’t demanding some basking time, he tended to follow Aziraphale around the house, prompting the angel to just carry him, as inconvenient as it was to try to do absolutely anything with a nearly two-meter-long snake curled around one’s shoulders.

“The Summoning magic is still here,” Avira interjected as she watched Raphael bristle slightly as Aziraphale’s response.  “I’ll need to do a spell to actually track it, but just unaided I can feel it poking around like it’s looking for him.  So, let’s get started and see if we can actually contact him.  I’ll shield him from attack if needed and that just might give me the chance to get a good trail to follow.”

Raphael rubbed his hands together and stood up.  “Ok, then.  Let’s do this.”  He waited for Aziraphale to lead the way to the kitchen.

Crowley raised his head as the three of them entered and inside the snake’s mind, his consciousness groaned upon seeing the two additional angels.  He wasn’t a member of the opposing side anymore, but he still wasn’t very eager about dealing with any angels who weren’t Aziraphale.  The snake responded to his irritation by hissing slightly, elegant green neck gathering in a semi-strike position.

“Friendly as ever I see,” commented Raphael.  “I’ll be happy when we can communicate with him instead of dealing with an animal brain.”

Aziraphale crouched carefully in front of the sunny patch occupied by the long, green body keeping himself out of striking range.  While he was capable of healing himself, he wasn’t sure if Crowley was venomous -- he looked like a non-venomous green tree python, but that didn’t mean he was one -- nor did he wish to endure a painful bite of any kind in the first place.  “Crowley, Raphael’s back to try to get a path of communication to your conscious self.  This is Avira.  She’s a Tracker who’s going to keep you safe from the magic seeking you out.  Oh, I wish I knew if you could understand us.”

“Let’s get on with this now, ok?  At least this way he’ll be able to take a bit of control of the body without being noticed.  We can then ask him yes/no questions.”

Aziraphale carefully placed the snake he had convinced to slither up his arm on to the table with minimal fuss.  Getting him settled took a bit more time, but soon Raphael was able to start working, starting with the calming spell he used yesterday to immobilize Crowley while he examined him. Once again, the snake wasn’t pleased about being held still and quiet, but it was required to get work done.  The Archangel was about as eager to get bitten as Aziraphale was. 

That done, he got down to the real invocation.  With a nod to Avira, he turned to Crowley and prepared his spell.  As he worked slowly and delicately to open up a means of communication with the trapped demon, his eyes took on the blue-white glow of an angel performing magic.  Things seemed to be going well, but suddenly, Raphael gasped. 

“It’s Heavenly magic!”

“What?” cried Avira and Aziraphale at the same time.  Avira hooked the translucent blue shield she had created to protect Crowley on one arm, using the other to physically touch his serpent form, her eyes taking on the same blue-white glow as Raphael’s.  They narrowed as she read the information there.

“Evangeline!” she exclaimed, roughly scrabbling to grab Aziraphale’s arm and pull him closer.  “How far are you, Raph?”

“Almost . . . done . . .  There.”  He pulled back, looked at her and barked out in a surprised tone.  “What are you doing?”

She had grabbed Aziraphale by both sides of his head, crushing his blond curls.  The shield seemed momentarily forgotten as she worked, disappearing entirely from her arm.  Aziraphale, for his part, looked too shocked to even register words as his arms flailed almost comically in an attempt to keep himself upright until she released his head.  He staggered back a few steps, wondering what happened.

He felt puzzled, but he felt puzzled for two.  Half his thoughts weren’t his own.  He shot an alarmed look at Crowley and mentally got an alarmed feeling in return.  _What in Heaven’s name?_

“What.  Did.  You.  Do?”  Raphael ground out from gritted teeth, since it was extremely clear Aziraphale was too shocked to make a comment yet.

Avira was breathing hard.  Her shield was back, shimmering a transparent blue against her arm.  “I linked their minds.  Evangeline won’t hurt the demon if it means risking harming an angel.  She can’t do a damn thing to Crowley as long as he’s linked to Aziraphale.  She’d hurt him, too.”

“You could have asked both them first!  It’s such an invasion of privacy which is why we don’t do that spell!”

Avira responded in clipped, annoyed sentences.  “No, I couldn’t have.  If Aziraphale had consented to being linked with Crowley, he would have deemed guilty.  This way he’s innocent.  I’m the guilty party.  Not Aziraphale.  She can’t harm him.  It goes against her purpose.” 

Aziraphale was only peripherally listening to them as he tried to make heads or tails of what was going on inside his own mind.  His head hurt with the effort causing him to rub his temples in an attempt to massage the unusual pain away.  Crowley was staring at him, head cocked to one side. 

_Hi, angel.  Well, this is awkward.  Promise you’ll stay out of anything more than surface thoughts?  I’ll return the favor.  I mean, this is embarrassing enough without you learning exactly how I feel about old Raphael over there._

_Hmmmm?  Oh yes.  Of course I’ll keep out.  I’m so sorry, my dear.  I’m finding this all overwhelming and my head’s throbbing like I’ve never experienced before.  I won’t pry anywhere I’m not supposed to, I promise._

_I bet the snake has one hell of headache . . . if snakes can get them.  But I’m not hooked into the pain center, thank the Bentley.  Who’s this Evangeline anyway?_

Aziraphale shrugged at Crowley then shouted his question over the arguing, “Who is Evangeline?  You’ll have to forgive us.  For differing reasons, neither of us has spent much time in Heaven.”

Avira had opened her mouth to say something back to Raphael, but closed it again as soon as Aziraphale spoke.  She pushed her purple streaked hair out of her face.  “Evangeline was one of Michael’s lieutenants in the Revolt.  His most faithful which is why she was chosen.  She now is the Arbitrator of Balance who can Summon those thought to bring imbalance to the universe for trial.  Apparently she’s decided Crowley did something to upset the balance of things.”

“She’s a higher rank than any of us,” added Raphael.  “We’re up against someone we can’t fight because she has enough power to take on all three of us and win without breaking a sweat.  All we can do is convince her that he’s always been on the same side despite appearances.  That Crowley taking a neutral stance is not a threat to the balance between Heaven and Hell.”

Avira sat down, exhausted by her efforts.  She propped her head in her hands, staring at the snake directly in front of her on the table.  “She could imprison Crowley in Heaven if she feels he’s a threat.  And she can torture, which is why I bound your minds together.  She can’t torture him without causing you harm and she’s bound by an oath to not hurt the innocent.”

_Oh, that’s just great,_ Crowley thought in Aziraphale’s direction as Aziraphale said, “But he has a binding contract with Heaven that he’ll be protected.  What are they playing at?”

“His contact is that he’ll get help if someone down in Hell decides he needs to be taken out.  It doesn’t say anything about being prosecuted by Heaven,” replied Raphael and added a bit sheepishly.  “I asked to look at it.  Listen, Evangeline plays by her own rules.  Our choices are limited here.  Crowley stands trial with us as witnesses for him or stays like that.  There’s no third option.”

_Oh, of course Raphael would get nosey about it.  Is nothing off limits?  The contract says I’ll never be stripped of my powers.  I didn’t trust the buggers enough to not get that in writing.  How can they touch me?_

Aziraphale relayed the question and Avira replied that not much was known about the punishment meted out.  There was a section of Heaven devoted to imprisoning those found guilty of threatening the balance.  Those who were mildly punished for minor transgressions were generally treated well.  Sigils carved on the walls prevented them from using their powers to cause mischief, harm anyone or escaping, but technically they still had them.  It was unknown how those sentenced to eternity fared. 

“It’s still punishment,” argued Aziraphale.  “It would be horrible to expect him to spend time in some kind cage, no matter how gilded it was, since he’s done no wrong.  And what if she does think he’s a demon?  You’re sugar-coating it now, but five minutes ago you were binding our minds together to protect him from torture.  What do they do to demons?” 

Neither of the other angels had an answer.  Torture was an option to get information out of those who caused serious transgressions.  That was all that was known. 

_No way out of this?_ asked Crowley.

 “No,” said Raphael after the relay from Aziraphale.  He had miracled up himself a nice glass of scotch, then thought about it a moment before making it a double. 

“Well, we’re just going to have to think this through.  Maybe my book collection can help us out.  Tea, my dear?” Aziraphale asked Avira, obviously avoiding the entire unpleasant subject.  She nodded yes and he busied himself with the kettle just for something to do.  “Anything for you, Crowley?”

Aziraphale was determined to keep his head in this situation since it seemed nobody else was going to.  There had to be answers somewhere.  He’d just have to put himself to work and find them. 

_No, thanks.  I think I’m just going to let the Summoning take me._

Aziraphale paled as the teacup he was holding slid from his grasp and crashed into pieces on the kitchen floor.


	5. Evangeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley comes face to face with the angel who's after him.

“No!”  The word escaped Aziraphale’s lips before he could stop it.  Raphael and Avira exchanged confused looks.

“What did you say to him?” Raphael snapped at Crowley.

“He wants the Summoning to just take him,” Aziraphale replied as he concentrated on making the teacup whole again rather than his rising sense of panic.  “He can’t just give up.”

 _Who said I was giving up?  They said there’s a trial.  It’s better than spending the rest of eternity hiding away in a snake’s body.  Allow me the chance to fight._ Crowley’s frustration and irritation at the entire situation thrummed in Aziraphale’s head.  Just when he thought he was settling into existence as a neutral party, someone just had to make life difficult. 

Before Aziraphale could stop him, Crowley took full control of his snake form and with a shimmer of energy became humanoid once again.  He stood before them wearing one of his expensive suits with his beautiful red hair done to perfection, best pair of sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and silvery wings revealed.  Two seconds later, he disappeared in a flash of bright celestial light while Aziraphale called out his name. Bright white wings extended as he prepared to launch himself into a wild hunt for Crowley.

“Let me go!” cried the hysterical Principality as the two other angels restrained him from just taking off into thin air.  A chase would be futile.  Nobody knew where Evangeline held court.

“Aziraphale. Listen, calm down a bit. I know this is hard, but you can't just leave to parts unknown." Avira patted his arm gently in a failed attempt to soothe him.  “You’re the one connected to him.  Let’s use that.  Use his senses to give us some details.  Maybe we can figure out where he is together.”

Aziraphale gulped down his panic the best he could, folded his wings back in, closed his eyes and reached out into his own mind to try to find Crowley.  Five minutes ago he had resolved to keep his head, he reminded himself firmly.  It was all up to him to get everyone through this in one piece because Raphael and Avira didn’t know Crowley like he did.  If everything was going to come out fine, then he had to take the lead.  He had to shine.  Wryly he thought it was too bad he didn’t feel nearly as confident as his own pep talk in his mind made him out to be.  But he had to stay strong.  Crowley was depending on him.

 

~*~*~

 

Crowley found himself sitting on a stone bench in an incredibly dark room.  The walls appeared to be made out of stone and there was a door across from him with a strong warding spell on it.  His powers slumbered, indicating the outside of the walls were covered in the sigils needed to keep him from using them to blow the stone walls to pieces and walk out of here.  An unlit torch hung on one wall so he experimented with lighting it.  Nothing happened.  They were taking no chances with him.  At least he still retained the demonic ability to see in the dark.

Crowley winched his wings in and lay down on the bench, one arm draped over his eyes, the other holding his sunglasses.  Now what?  He supposed he was just meant to wait it out until the trial, whenever that was.  Hopefully they didn’t drag that out like the human justice system.  He was going to get awfully bored just hanging around a dark dungeon for a long period of time.  Well, he could sleep for those long periods of time, if needs be.  Too bad the bench wasn’t more comfortable.

 _“He’s in a dark room.  It just has a stone bench in it and stone walls.  There’s a torch on the wall to his left but it’s not lit.  A door is opposite the bench.  It doesn’t look like he’s restrained at all.”_ Azirphale’s voice carried through his head as if the angel was sitting right there beside him having a conversation.   

With a bit of concentration, Crowley could focus on the kitchen where Aziraphale sat at the table with the other two angels, seeing everything through Aziraphale’s eyes.  _The door’s warded and I can’t use my powers,_ he sent.  _I have no idea where I am.   I just appeared here after the Summoning took me._

He felt Aziraphale’s gasp as the angel registered the connection once again.  “Crowley!”  The exclamation was out loud as well as in his head.  “Are you ok?”

_Fine, I guess.  Well, I’m unhurt if that’s what you mean.  If I could break out of here I’d be better._

“Hang in there, my dear.  We’re going to work on getting you out.”

“We are?  We don’t even know where he is!”  Raphael’s voice replied, carried to Crowley’s head through Aziraphale’s hearing.

“Well, they’ve got a prison section somewhere up there, obviously,” that would be Avira. “Evangeline can’t work outside the dimension of Heaven.  I do know that.  If Crowley could give us enough details, we could get him out.”

“And then what?” Raphael gestured wildly, almost knocking over his scotch in Crowley’s fuzzy view of the table and its occupants.  “She’d just call him back and the rest of us with him.”

_Just tell them to hang on, angel.  Let me try to do some intelligence-gathering first._

He surveyed the small area, looking for any clues he could relay to Aziraphale.  He was brushing his long fingers over the stone of the wall by the door noting how warm it was when the torch suddenly burst into life, burning with a kind of vengeance Hell would admire.  Crowley stepped back as the wards on the door undid themselves.  It swung silently open to admit a coldly beautiful woman who looked like she had just walked out of a Renaissance painting of an angel, flowing white robes, long, wavy blond hair and all.

“Theatrical,” commented Crowley sarcastically.  _You getting this all, angel?  I think we just met Evangeline._

“The numbers of the Heavenly Host and Hoards of Hell must remain constant.  You have unbalanced it by leaving Hell to join Heaven,” the cold angel replied. 

“I hardly rejoined Heaven.  In fact, I didn’t even volunteer to join Hell like the rest of those tossers who joined the Rebellion.  That important decision was made for me to make sure I not only gave humanity free will, but stopped the Apocalypse by misplacing the Antichrist.”

The coldness of her visage remained unchanged by this information.  “There cannot be a neutral party.  The only choice is between the two sides.  Neutrality is not allowed if balance is to be maintained.  You must agree to rejoin Hell if you do not want to be judged and sentenced.”

“I will not work for Hell anymore.  I never truly worked for them in the first place.”  Fury started to overcome Crowley.  Hastily he stuffed his hands deep in his pockets to prevent himself from doing something incredibly stupid, like taking an ill-advised swing at the pretentious angel standing before him.  “Surely the Judge of Balance, or whatever you are, can _feel_ the Grace within me, see my divinity.  I was part of the Plan all along!  Think I was happy about it?  I got messed around by both sides and now you’re just continuing it.”

His anger was strong enough to give Aziraphale a headache back on Earth and he fairly glowed with the Grace.  Evangeline took an involuntary step back, fear and surprise in her cold, pale eyes. 

“No.”  The word was whispered, barely audible as it left her lips.  “You lie.  I will have the truth out of you.”  With a quick motion, she whipped her hand out, power radiating from it.  It hit Crowley directly on his cheek, leaving a deep, perfectly straight, bloody cut that made him cry out in pain.  He knew instantly that Aziraphale was feeling the exact same pain he was.

 _Just hang on,_ he thought in the angel’s direction as he watched the fuzzy image of the kitchen jerk, then go black for a second as Aziraphale’s head snapped sideways and his eyes closed like he was slapped by an invisible hand.  _She’s bound to see this is wrong._

Evangeline stepped forward, grabbing Crowley’s fine cheekbones in her hand, twisting his head to force him to stare at her.  Her cool green eyes looked into his golden serpentine ones.  He stared back defiantly even though her vice-like grip on his cut caused it to throb with a stinging pain. More than anything he wanted to use his powers to fling her into the wall and bolt out the door. 

“The Principality . . . bound to you . . . by the Tracker. . .” her grip released, smearing blood over Crowley’s cheek.  “She will pay for this.”

“This shouldn’t be happening.  Heaven extended the olive branch, not I!”  the former demon hissed, wiping his face as clean as he could under the circumstances, but blood continued to drip out of the cut on to his suit jacket.

“But _you_ are the abomination.”

“In the flesh and sanctioned by the ineffable Plan itself.  So, what’s your problem here?”

_Be careful, my dear.  Don’t upset her.  Please, just stay calm._

Evangeline rose to her full height, skin glowing beyond ethereal and bordering on the sickly pale hues taken on by some demons.  Icy eyes snapped with cold fury.  “You fooled them all, but you won’t fool me.  I’m staying the trial.  You can rot in here for all I care.”

She turned on her heel and glided out, the warded door slamming shut behind her.  Defeated, Crowley sagged on the stone bench in mental exhaustion.  He tried to shield his near-panic from Aziraphale but worried that he was failing miserably.

Having nothing else to do, he lay down on that uncomfortable bench and stared at the flickering torch while exchanging fruitless ideas with those in the cottage in the South Downs until he finally, inexplicably drifted off into a dreamless sleep.  His last coherent thought was:   _We’ll figure this out, Aziraphale.  I won’t let that cliched excuse of a melodramatic angel harm you again._


	6. Aziraphale's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Heaven has to deal with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was wringing his hands as he paced the sitting room.  Raphael had left to contact Gabriel and Avira stayed behind for the duel reasons of not leaving Aziraphale alone and not being in the same territory as the vengeful Evangeline since the Judging Angel had threatened her as well.  But all three of them knew Avira could be Summoned at any time.  She considered taking an animal form, but decided against it.  First, Aziraphale needed her in a form he could communicate with, second, she’d still be herself, not a separate entity from the animal form like Crowley was, and third, she was well aware what she had gotten herself in to when she performed the binding spell in the first place.

“I can’t just stay here, “ he was saying as he practically wore a hole in the sitting room rug as he paced.  “I can’t rouse him.  He’s just. . .sleeping. . .  Dead to the world.”

“The sigils on those walls drain power.  It’s mentally exhausting to have your power constantly siphoned off,” explained Avira.  “He’s going to sleep longer and more often.  But when he wakes up, talk to him.  Get all the information you can because we’re going to need it.”

“No.  I’m not waiting around.  I can’t.  He’s my friend and he’s in trouble.  I just can’t sit down here like a coward.” 

Aziraphale reached for his old, worn coat hanging on the ancient coat rack by the door, shrugging it on despite Avira’s panicked protests that she was supposed to protect him.  Resolve shone in those blue eyes of his as he turned to her, his face set in the most determined look.  In that moment he appeared ancient beyond Time, even to one who was created at the exact moment he was.  She stepped back involuntarily, opening up an unobstructed path between him and the back door. 

“Now you can either come with me or you can shape shift into whatever shape you think will keep Evangeline at bay.  I wouldn’t blame you if you did.  You’ve gone above and beyond to help us out by binding us together,” Aziraphale swallowed hard.  “At least I know he’s not being tortured and can at least speak with him.  Thank you.”

The angel quickly walked through the kitchen then out the mudroom door, letting the old, weathered thing close with a slam that sounded awfully final to Avira.  He unfurled his wings towards the sky, preparing to head for the celestial plane.  Avira had run out in time to watch him go before shooting skyward herself at breakneck speeds to warn Gabriel and Raphael that Aziraphale was not only on his way, but pissed off as well.  She prayed silently as she flew that Evangeline wouldn’t find either of them before they could figure out how to get Crowley out of this mess.

Aziraphale burst through the celestial plane, scattering the clouds and a flock of surprised birds with his violent rush from one dimension to another.  Landing at the angel’s entrance, he walked in, head held high with a confidence he only partially felt and an anger he felt entirely too much.  He headed directly for the pristine white office building that housed all the various departments of Heaven.  The angel at the receptionists’ desk, who was neither even vaguely man- or woman-shaped, looked up from their computer and raised an inquiring eyebrow.   They didn’t get a chance to even inquire what brought Aziraphale in before he cut them off with an angry question.

“Where’s Evangeline?”

The receptionist stammered, not expecting this kind of anger or question in the least.  “I-I don’t know where exactly she operates.  Is there a problem?”

“You might say that.  Is there anyone who can possibly help me?  She took Crowley.  He is protected by Heaven by contract,” Aziraphale’s face was all hard, uncompromising lines with fiery blue eyes.  “She.  Has.  No.  Right.”

“Nobody knows.  That’s part of being the Arbitrator of Balance.  She’s not under anyone’s jurisdiction.  I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait to find out after your party’s trial is completed unless you’re called as a witness.  But all rulings are posted in the Department of Celestial Justice.”

But Aziraphale had turned stiffly on his heel then stormed out before the receptionist had finished their speech.  He decided he would tear this place apart before he allowed any harm to come to Crowley.  Off he strode furiously down the light beige brick path that made up Heaven’s roads in a mood that radiated off of him like heat.  Angels were quick to avoid him, stepping out of his way the instant they felt that heated anger bearing down on them.  He caused quite a stir; it had been millennia since anger of that magnitude had been present in Heaven.  The results were not ones anyone wanted repeated. 

_Aziraphale?_ Crowley’s thought directed towards him was faint and fuzzy.  _Angel, she knows you’re here.  She’s Banishing me!_

_Crowley!_ screamed Aziraphale, but there was no reply.  He could still faintly feel the psychic bond between them, Crowley’s very palatable terror coming through weakly but nothing else.  The former demon’s thoughts were lost to him.  He grabbed a tight hold on that terror and willed it to lead him to Crowley.  Because if it didn’t, all Hell was going to break loose here, but it wasn’t a demon that’d bring it to fruition.

He stood there attempting to get control before moving on, anger and sorrow combining to cause a tear or two to slip down his cheeks, fists balled tightly enough he was leaving deep trenches from his fingernails in his own palms, blinded by the terrible thought that Crowley could have been Banished anywhere, including Hell.  That was how Avira found him when she came running up all thoughts of warning Raphael and Gabriel forgotten.

“What in Heaven’s name just happened, Aziraphale?” she asked, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Furious eyes glared at her a moment before he slowly said, “I’m going to find an armory, grab a sword then find Evangeline.  She Banished Crowley somewhere.  I will get him back no matter what it takes.  If you don’t want to be in any more trouble, stop following me.”

“I can track Banishment magic.  Let me help.”

Spreading his wings, Aziraphale took to the air, Avira hot on his heels. 


	7. Never Underestimate the Bookseller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't take his demon and piss him off. Just don't.

Gabriel sat at his desk, head bowed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.  “He did what now?”

“He broke into an armory and took a sword,” the messenger replied.

“Just the one?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Evangeline’s hide he wants, just tell everyone to stay out of his way.  Raphael’s going to try to talk him down.  God, I wish I knew where the Metatron’s diplomatic mission took him.”  Gabriel always thought for being the Voice of God, the Metatron wasn’t very good at communicating his whereabouts sometimes.

The messenger nodded, turning to leave.

“Oh, one more thing.  Can you tell the Metatron’s department that I’d really like to talk to their boss the next time he checks in, please?  I believe it’s wise to reign in Evangeline.  She’s gone too far with this.  It’s time to gather the Archangels and Seraphim to decide what to do with her.  It was explicitly stated that Crowley was not to be seen as a threat.”

“Will do,” the messenger walked out the door.

Raphael sat there, leaving forward, fingers steepled together as his elbows rested on his knees.  “If we don’t get him back, Aziraphale will start another rebellion.  Love will make you do crazy things.”

Tapping his pen idly on his desk, Gabriel gave his fellow Archangel a measured look.  “Love?  Our fussy little Principality fell for a supposed demon?  Well . . . maybe, given the way he’s acting.  But I don’t even think Aziraphale realizes his own feelings if that’s the case.  What is the Plan up to?”

Raphael rose from his chair.  “I don’t know.  But Evangeline’s throwing an awfully large wrench in it and that can’t be good.  I’ll report back when I have something to report.”

 

~*~*~

 

Aziraphale and Avira noticed that the streets of Heaven were unusually empty.  The Principality didn’t care why, but the Tracker was on edge, fearing that Heaven’s citizens had been told to stay in while a celestial police force prepared to stop them as if they had left a trail of destruction and death behind them.  Even the armory had been easy enough to break into as it stood abandoned with only wards easy enough to Avira to crack upon its doors.  Aziraphale walked in, selected a sword and walked back out.  Avira took a bow and some arrows after dithering around outside deciding how much trouble she actually wanted to get in today.  Heaven’s Justice Department would have a field day with the charges they could lay against her.

Aziraphale seemed to be following some kind of inner map as he moved through the Circles of Heaven.  Every once in a while he’d stop, close his eyes while slowing his unnecessary breathing before opening them again and starting off once more, usually in a different direction.  Avira asked him about this but all he said was Crowley’s emotions were getting stronger in the direction they were heading. 

Avira, helped out as well, stretching out tendrils of her Tracking magic to look for any sign of a Banishment spell or any other form of Evangeline’s powers.  So far, nothing had turned up. 

It wasn’t until the Third Circle that they encountered any sort of trouble.  The gates there were still being manned by a sentry who was not at all happy to see either of them.  Aziraphale found himself staring down the sharp edge of the sentry’s sword while his remained firmly at his side.  Fighter, thy name is not Aziraphale.

“Evangeline commands you stop this now or she’ll have the both of you next.”

Avira put arrow to bow.  “I suggest you get that sword out of his face before I Iet this arrow loose.”

“I . . . I’d do as she says.  She’s been out fighting demons in the States.  I wouldn’t cross her,” stammered poor Aziraphale. 

The sentry’s eyes flicked from the angel he was targeting to the one who was targeting him.  It was just enough of a distraction.  Before he knew what happened, Aziraphale had disarmed him in one swift move.  The unprepared sentry gasped in surprise at the angry Principality before he was hit rather hard over the head with the hilt of his sword.  Underneath the extra padding he had put on as a result of being a bit of a glutton for Earth’s more decadent foods lay an ancient fighter trained to discorporate demons with efficient ease.  Some things never went away when one was immortal for which Aziraphale thanked his lucky stars.  But he was aware he may have very well used up his one chance to misdirect.  If any other had seen his swordplay, his passive bookseller act might not work again.

“Let’s lock him in the guard booth,” he suggested to the stunned Avira, grabbing the unconscious sentry around the armpits and dragging him that direction.  “Well, don’t just stand there.  Honestly, did you think life on Earth had taken away my reflexes?  Now get his legs.  He’s not light with all this armor on.”

“Fuck!”  breathed an awed Avira before she put her arrow away to help out.

“That kind of language isn’t necessary,” Aziraphale said primly.

“And he’s back.  Demon slayer one minute.  Bookseller the next.”

That earned her a hard glare as Aziraphale locked the guard booth door; a few precise hand motions ensured the warded door would be harder to open.   Avira watched him go into his trance again before they moved on, trailing behind the frumpily dressed, out-of-shape-looking angel -- his regal wings clashing with his rumpled look -- who was obviously more than he seemed.  Today was turning out to be very weird, even for someone who had spent a very long lifetime tracking down demons in all kinds of wild circumstances.  But follow Aziraphale she did because this unexpected example of an angel was quickly growing on her.

She suppressed a giggle at the surreal picture they must paint to anyone who happened to be observing the pair.  Closing her eyes momentarily, she sent out her Tracking magic once again on long, eager tendrils.  They walked on a long while before she picked something up. 

“Aziraphale,” she poked her companion’s shoulder to get his attention.  “She’s near.  Stay alert.”

He nodded and raised the sword in a defensive position.  There was no knowing what they would run into now.  In fact, things seemed a little more sinister, for lack of a better description.  It felt colder, darker, like something was off in this part of Heaven.  Aziraphale strangely enough, had felt these exact sinister vibes in Lower Tadfield several years ago.  He didn’t like it then and he didn’t like it now. Avira, for her part, fitted an arrow to the bowstring. 

She spotted the guard before her companion and had the arrow pointed at her throat with one quick motion.  Unfortunately, the guard was also an excellent archer whose skill allowed her to point an arrow Aziraphale’s throat in the same swift span of time.  She also wasn’t alone.  Five other archers all armed to the teeth appeared out the perfectly manicured shrubbery lining the road they were on and from behind Heaven’s gleaming, white buildings along the sidewalks.

“Put down your weapons and Evangeline will be merciful.  It is only the demon she is after,” the first archer called out in her clear, authoritative voice.  “You’ll be free to go if you cooperate.”

“Evangeline does not run Heaven, nor should she be permitted to pass judgement on anyone – demon or angel – as if she is God herself!” replied Aziraphale in a voice just as clear and authoritative as the lead archer’s.  “I suggest you all back off.  You forget my companion and I are in corporations while you are not.  We’ll just discorporate and return to our ethereal selves.  What will happen to you if Avira gets her shot off first?”

The Rebellion of Satan’s forces had ended without any deaths.  No angel knew what happened if one’s ethereal spirit was killed; it might very well mean permanent death (but if Hell had that knowledge, they were keeping to themselves).  They all stood there, frozen, weapons pointed at each other.  Even Aziraphale had his sword up.  But even weapons pointed directly at him didn't deter the angel.  He still snapped off questions to the guards in front of him, determined to get information on his adversary. 

It was here that Raphael found them, getting there just moments after the standoff started.  He went from full-throttle run to almost immediate stop to keep from bursting into the middle of the scene like some kind of idiot.  His wings extended inelegantly with the effort of keeping him upright.  Aziraphale barely gave him a glance, despite his ungraceful entrance.  Nobody else but Avira noticed him as all had their eyes riveted on the furious Principality.  Raphael grabbed his chance.  There would be no bloodshed here if he could prevent it.

“Stand down!  All of you!  That means you, too, Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale was holding his sword in an awkward manner, but after what he heard from the rescued guard Aziraphale knocked out, Raphael wasn’t going to be fooled by his deceptions.  Aziraphale wisely allowed his sword arm to drop to his side.  The Archangel not only outranked him, but was a valuable ally. 

“Everyone back to whatever you were doing before this whole thing started,” Raphael commanded.  “You two, with me.”

The former sentries, released from Evangeline's spell now, trudged off to return their weapons to the armory where they belonged.  Weapons only came out when threats to Heaven arose, or in this case, when Evangeline needed the firepower and temporarily took over those in the area, compelling them to fight.  The fact that she could do so now concerned Raphael.  In fact, it downright scared him.  It wasn’t Aziraphale who was going to cause another war, it was her.  She was blindly clinging to her power in this situation, no longer the neutral judge of right and wrong, nor had she been since she went against the Grace’s wishes by taking Crowley.

“They told me nothing,” fumed Aziraphale.

“They wouldn’t.  They have no clue what’s going on.  She just makes them protect her,” replied Raphael.  “This has got to stop.  We’re going to have fighting in the streets thanks to her recklessness and your need to play hero.  Avira, give me a status report.”

“She fled in the standoff, unfortunately.  I can’t feel a trace of her magic and I can’t stop thinking she’s trying to lead us straight into an ambush because there’s nothing she’d like better than to get rid of the lot of us.”

Raphael nodded.  “So, we need to stop, take a moment to collect ourselves and make a plan.  I think we’re going to need backup because this is quickly becoming a dangerous situation.  Evangeline is way over the line.  I honestly don’t think she’s going to give up now.  We need all the Archangels and the Seraphim here.”

Avira shrugged.  “You’re in charge here.”

Raphael slammed his fist against the decorative pillar he was standing next to in a fit of frustration, “Dammit.  It’s come to this.  Another fucking war.  Go to Gabriel.  He’ll know I’ve sent you and what for.  I just hope Michael doesn’t get too excited over this.  He’s been itching for a battle since the failed Apocalypse.  I hope another round of angel versus angel is not what he had in mind . . . too many Fell the first time around.  If she’s so worried about keeping the balance, it’s not going to happen when we’re pushing more angels off into Hell.”

Avira took to the air and flew off quickly in the direction of Gabriel’s office.

Meanwhile, their entire conversation floated over and around Aziraphale who was busy concentrating on the emotions inside his own head, trying to get a bead on where Crowley was.  Rage momentarily dissipated, he stood there calm enough to carry on his task.  Inside his mind was a mix of his own composed coolness overlaid with episodes of fear for Crowley, fury at Evangeline and Heaven itself for allowing this to happen and the faint static that was Crowley’s terror.  The terror unnerved him because he’d never known Crowley to be terrified. 

The angel felt like he was going to unravel if he could not find the former demon.  He realized he needed him in his life to be complete.  Nor did he think he could handle the dual memories of his own fear mixed with Crowley’s for all eternity, reminding him how he had failed his best friend.  Right now, he wanted nothing more in the universe than to hold him.  To tell him that he’d never have to worry again because he’d always be there to protect him.

“You still know how to use that sword, don’t you,” whispered Raphael in his ear, more a statement than a question.

“Hmmm?” Aziraphale turned towards Raphael, who was now standing at his shoulder.  “Of course I do, my dear.  I might enjoy my life on Earth, I might seem a better bookworm than warrior and I know I’ve never been one who could stomach war, but one never forgets one’s purpose for existence.  We’re fools if we think we were created to be anything more than an army.  Or maybe I’ve just become a bit jaded when it comes to the ineffable.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I remember Crowley sarcastically commenting on my first visit to your cottage that you were cut out to give passive-aggressive stares to potential customers and drink cocoa.”

Aziraphale actually cracked a bit of a sad smile at that.  “Don’t remind me I’m standing around wasting time while he suffers.”

“You can’t do this alone.  We’ll get reinforcements here in short order and we can continue our search.  Here, let’s go wait under some cover instead of standing here in the open.”

They stood closer to the building, Raphael feeling safer with something against his back preventing a possible ambush.  Aziraphale fidgeted horribly, only staying because the Archangel outranked him.  He worriedly pushed an errant blond curl out of his eyes as he paced the sidewalk.

“This is my trial.  My fight to get him back because it’s up to me to prove he’s no threat to balance or anything else for that matter.  I have to face her alone.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because he’s not of either Heaven or Hell anymore and I’m the one who’s been his friend for the last six thousand years.  If I can’t convince her, nobody’s going to be able to.  Please, Raphael. Let me go.”

Raphael stared into those pleading sky blue eyes filled with every conceivable emotion from fear to determination to love.  Maybe the Principality was finally starting to realize that his demon was more than just a friend.  Maybe the point of all this _was_ to show Aziraphale how much he did love him.  It seemed a piss-poor way to demonstrate that to anyone, but one couldn’t second-guess ineffability.  Yet a posted letter saying, “You love him, so just kiss him already, you fool” would have been a better way to go about it rather than bring Heaven to the brink of war, in Raphael’s opinion.

“Fine.  Go.  I’m still gathering the others and we’ll be right behind you.  We can’t let this lie anymore.”

Aziraphale held out his hand to Raphael who, being used to Aziraphale’s adopted human ways, grabbed and shook it.  “Thank you.”

Raphael watched him go, shaking his head at the surreal nature of this.  He would stay here and wait for the others then they would follow after Aziraphale as a united front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I went with there being no deaths in the Rebellion because a lot of theological stuff I found stated that the number of angels and demons is set and remains constant because they can never die. It also gives Aziraphale and Avira a bit of an advantage, since they also have human bodies. 
> 
> * It would make the Apocalypse interesting since the two realms would still exist, just one would be the winner and dominant realm while the other would most likely be greatly diminished and never able to be to hold power again. Earth would be the only loser. Well, and our heroes since they would be forever separated.


	8. Seraph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale not only tracks down Evangeline, but finds out where she's hiding Crowley. Unfortunately, he has only limited time to get Crowley out before he dies.

Crowley lay in the fetal position the grass shivering, wings curled around him for warmth.  He shouldn’t be here.  He _couldn’t_ be here.  It was not permitted.  Wisps of his immortal life started to drain away.

“Aziraphale . . .” he whispered desperately hoping the angel could sense him.

 

~*~*~

 

He could feel her.  She was near.  Taunting him.  Just out of reach, staying that way like this was all just a game.  This was justice?  No.  Maybe she started out actually interested in justice, but now she was upset that the status quo is off and He approved it. 

“Evangeline!  Let’s talk about this, just the two of us!”

She stepped in to Aziraphale’s field of view, terrible and beautiful to behold, all cold fury and angelic grace.  “He is an abomination.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”  Aziraphale raised his sword.  “Let him go.  We’ll return to Earth and not be a bother.”

“You will dare try to strike me down, little Principality?  You’ll be the first angel to die, then, followed by the demon.  Already his life force is draining away.”  Her laugh was terrible; her oath forgotten.

Aziraphale’s blood ran cold at those words, “What did you do to him?”

“He’s in Eden, a place forbidden to him because of his curse.”

“Eden doesn’t exist.  What have you really done?”

She conjured a ball in between them with Crowley inside its glowing depths.  He lay on grass, curled up tightly legs almost against his chest with his wings surrounding him.  He was as ancient as the stars, every inch the Fallen angel Aziraphale talked to after the Exile – glossy black wings, delicate fiery curls and grey tunic draped over with a black sash.  The deep cut on his cheek surrounded by dried blood was the only indication this was an actual image of him, not the Crowley of Eden past.  His form had reverted to what it knew then when faced with those surroundings.

“No!”  Fury, grief, love and loss built in Aziraphale like he had never felt before – burning, righteous emotions that caused his aura to brighten to levels not seen in Principalities.  “Bring him back.  Now.”

This was no passive-aggressive bookseller with a distaste for war.  This was an angel ready to do battle to save the one he loved.  The sword was more than raised now.  Aziraphale was standing very much in an offensive position ready to use the weapon, which had burst into flame.

He did not notice the seven Archangels, Avira and a squad of archers had gathered behind him.  The Seraphim stood back further behind the archers, barely within his line of sight if he was looking.  The Metatron, who had returned once he heard of the situation, had said this was not their battle, that they could only join once Aziraphale’s trials were over.  The gathered angels stood there watching in horror, wondering exactly when Aziraphale would be allowed assistance.

“It does not matter how bright your aura gets, it does not increase your power, Principality,” said Evangeline.  “You cannot stop me.”

She hit him square in the shoulder with offensive magic.  He gripped the wound in pain sending in his healing power before raising the sword to defend himself.  She threw energy ball after energy ball at him, relentless in her quest to pound him into the ground.  But Aziraphale continued to surprise.  He dodged, he ducked, and he hit a few back at her with the flat of his sword, one actually hitting her in the thigh.  She cried out, but the wound she sustained seemed not to be that serious. 

All the while his anger grew along with his aura.

He charged her like a swordsman in war homing in on an enemy target only to find himself slammed up against a shield she erected.  It held him tight even though he struggled to free himself, thinking only of Crowley. _If I cannot save you, then I will join you._   

“Burn brightly,” she sneered at him, sounding more and more to his ears like the cliché villain in a bad fairy tale.  “It will do no good.  Your anger is not powerful enough.”

Burn Aziraphale’s aura did, the light becoming brighter until finally its heat and light became more than even its bearer could stand.  Evangeline's shield shattered.  Aziraphale threw back his head and screamed with the pain.  He was burning up.  In a few minutes, he’d be little more than ash.  The pain in his back was unbearable, so much so he was convinced his wings were aflame.

Burn they didn’t, but with a horrible, tearing feeling like his entire back was being pulled apart, they multiplied.  He now bore the six wings of a seraph, all of them gleaming bright as his aura.  Blessed fire circled his head in a burning halo and his eyes glowed an incandescent blue.  Two strides put him right in front of Evangeline, who suddenly looked less terrible and more terrified.  Rooted to the spot, she didn’t even try to flee when he grabbed her arm. 

“You will take me to Eden.”  There was no arguing with that tone, with that authority.  It was coming directly from the Grace itself.  The Grace was enraged, it was manifesting itself through the equally furious Aziraphale and it was not going to be ignored.

Eden existed still.  It had been moved to Heaven’s realm soon after the Exile, sitting on the edges of the dimension in an underused area, its entrance put under lock and key, like some type of memorial to what once was.  It was said God Himself visited there on occasion but after His disappearance, it became nothing more than a forgotten piece of real estate as the angels of the Heavens learned to go about their own lives without the presence of their Creator.  Aziraphale, being an earth-dwelling angel, never did learn what happened to Eden and just assumed that it had been swallowed by the surrounding desert once He told the Guardians of the Gates they were to be reassigned to different posts. 

With a strangled cry, Evangeline disappeared, taking Aziraphale with her.  They reappeared before a very familiar, tall, gated wall shimmering with the blue of warding magic.  Aziraphale shoved Evangeline towards it.

“Open it.”

“I can’t.  I can only Banish there.” 

“Then Banish me there so I can get him out.”

“Please,” she begged pale, green eyes terrified.  “The power it would take to Banish you there would drain my life energy.  You are beyond anything I have seen except our Creator.”

Aziraphale flared even brighter, rivaling the sun in the sky above.  “You sent him there to die.  Why should I show you mercy?”  he snarled in a very un-Aziraphale-like manner.  “Banish me.  It is not a request, my dear.”

She just sank to her knees with a mewling, pitiful cry, covering her face with her hands.  She would rather face Aziraphale’s wrath than risk being drained dry.  The flaming sword touched her shoulder and she shuddered, but did not relent.  She felt its tip move to her chin then lift it so she was forced to look the Principality-turned-Seraph directly in those holy, incandescent blue eyes.

“You’ll Fall, then,” said the Grace through Aziraphale.

“Yes, I’m afraid I will,” she replied, tears streaming down her face.  The ground opened up beneath her to swallow her bodily.  She sank screaming into it while a horrified Aziraphale looked on. 

“No . . .”  It was a desperate, broken whisper.  The sword clattered to the ground, forgotten, unneeded, extinguished.  Desperately he ran to the wall, clawing at it as if he could pull it down stone by stone to get to Crowley, trying every spell he knew to erase a warding without any success.  The blue just rippled in response, never giving in to his attempts.  “Let me in!  He’s _dying_!”

The sobs came in hitched breaths, fast and hard.  His finger scraped against the wards, slipping downwards as if he was clawing at smooth marble than roughly hewn stone.  None of it mattered.  Crowley was in there and he had to find a way to get to him.  Screaming, he pounded at that wall separating him from his fading friend, only to find his fists held fast in that blue shimmer.  The shimmer climbed partially over his arms, holding them as immobile as his hands.  Stunned, Aziraphale made no attempt to break free of its grasp. His forearms were held parallel to the wall now, his face nearly touching it.

_Do you love him?_

_What?_

_It is a simple enough question.  Do you love him?_

_I . . . I . . . can’t imagine life without him.  He deserves better than he’s had from Hell, Heaven and even me.  I’ve been selfish.  I’ve taken him for granted.  I haven’t always trusted him.  I’ve doubted the trust he has in me.  He doesn’t deserve to be the first ethereal being to die.  He deserves happiness and I want to be the one to give him that happiness._

The revelation hit Aziraphale like the Fallen Evangeline hit the Pit below.  _I love him!  Oh God, I love him.  Please, don’t take him from me._

A dizzying feeling overcame him as the spell retreated, freeing the gate in front of him.  Swaying slightly, he saw he was standing in front of a normal-looking wall with a normal-looking unlocked gate in it and greenery visible behind that gate.  Aziraphale’s aura dimmed as he opened that gate and sprinted across the fields of grass, calling for his love.  Echoing among the copses of trees, his voice frightened flocks of birds out of branches. 

“Crowley!  Crowley!  Can you hear me?”

Ironically enough he found him huddled near the Tree of Life, reverted to that Fallen angel form Aziraphale saw after he transformed from the Serpent.  Crowley’s skin was pallid, cold to the touch and he didn’t respond to either Aziraphale’s touch or voice when the angel tried urgently to rouse him.  Panicked by thoughts of the worst, he picked the ex-demon up, knowing that he had to get him out of Eden.  His lithe body was lighter than Aziraphale expected.  The newly-minted Seraph made use of those six wings to fly them out of there at dizzying speeds beyond the capability of any angel in possession of just one pair.

Once outside the gate, he was met by the seven Archangels, all dressed in their traditional armor and one of the Seraphim, a woman-shaped angel named Jorien.  They were ignored as he laid Crowley carefully in the grass several meters away from the wall of Eden before kneeling there himself to cradle the former demon’s body up against his own.  Sobbing hard, tears fell from those blue eyes, now changed back to normal, until Crowley’s face and hair were damp. 

“I love you.  Don’t leave me.  What would I do without you, my dear?  You mean everything to me.”

A hand was laid on his shoulder; it was Raphael, who had shed helmet and the upper portions of his armor.  He stood there in a short tunic, sandals and shin guards, still looking every inch a solider of the Host even without the rest of it.  “Allow me.” 

The Archangel of Healing didn’t take long to examine Crowley before he gave his diagnosis.  “He’s had a lot of his life force drained, but he’s not leaving us yet.  He’ll be unconscious for a while – maybe a month or longer – before he’s healed enough to awaken . . . Aziraphale?  Are you listening?  He’s going to be fine in time.  His life force can replenish.  We do need to get him out of here so we can work on encouraging his powers to do just that.  We need to take him to the Healing Houses.  Would you like me to help carry him?”

“No.  Thank you.  I want to take him home.  He belongs at home, not here.”  Aziraphale started to pick up Crowley’s prone form, but Jorien stopped him.

“We need to talk, Aziraphale.  Let Raphael take him temporarily to the Healing Houses and heal him.  You can take him home when we’re done.”

Loathe to let Crowley out of his sight, Aziraphale reluctantly allowed Raphael to carry him off while Jorien led him back to where the other Seraphim waited.  But he didn’t take his eyes off Crowley until Raphael had carried him off out of sight.


	9. Healing the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“She Fell rather than allow me to get you out.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Well, that’s the first one in thousands of years.  Damn.  Then how’d you get me out?”  Crowley shivered a bit at the thought of being stuck in Eden until his life force entirely drained away._
> 
>  
> 
> _It was Aziraphale’s turn to look uncomfortable.  He blushed just ever so slightly as he twisted on the bedside chair he had sat upon.  “Well, the wards let me in when I finally admitted I love you.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Crowley’s hands tightened on the bedcovers, his facial expression unreadable.  “You love me?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to the reason for the explicit rating scene at the very end. I haven't written much smut, so hopefully it passes muster.

Raphael was correct.  Crowley awoke a little over a month after his entrapment in Eden.  Aziraphale had spent that time sitting by him every day reading, talking to him, stroking his hair and holding his hand.  He spent his nights curled up beside him, listening to the reassuring rhythm of his breathing.  He didn’t sleep, but he spent hours there calmed by Crowley’s warm body, heartbeat, and the rising and falling of his chest that happened with each breath he took.  It was an odd thing to revel in such human signs of life when neither of them required breath or heartbeat. 

Aziraphale had gone into his library to fetch a new book to read when Crowley first opened his beautiful, golden-yellow eyes.  He returned to find the demon sitting up in bed looking like he expected to find himself sitting on the grasses of Eden instead of here.  The book was laid hastily on the night stand a split second before Crowley found himself in an enthusiastic embrace.

“You’re awake, my dear.  I was so worried that you’d never wake up.”

“Uh, hi.  I think I missed something here, angel.  I’m home?”

“I came to get you.”

“You did?  How?  We were dealing with an angel who outranked both of us.  How did you pull that off?”

“I became a Seraph.”

“You what?”  Crowley, who was slouching on the pillows, sat bolt upright with a bit of effort.  “Angels just don’t power up!”

“You’re not the only unusual one in the bunch.  Apparently I am, too,” chucked Aziraphale.  “The Grace decided to give me two extra sets of wings and the power needed to fight Evangeline.  But I talked with the other Seraphim about all of it since they weren’t sure what to do with me.  I told them I’m happy being a Principality here on Earth.  I’m still technically a Seraph, but the power and extra wings are being held in reserve in case I ever need them again.  I hope I never do.  That’s . . . well, it’s just not me.”

Crowley shook his head in astonishment.  “I’m going to have to take some time to process that.  Evangeline?”

“She Fell rather than allow me to get you out.”

“Well, that’s the first one in thousands of years.  Damn.  Then how’d you get me out?”  Crowley shivered a bit at the thought of being stuck in Eden until his life force entirely drained away.

It was Aziraphale’s turn to look uncomfortable.  He blushed just ever so slightly as he twisted on the bedside chair he had sat upon.  “Well, the wards let me in when I finally admitted I love you.”

Crowley’s hands tightened on the bedcovers, his facial expression unreadable.  “You love me?” 

The angel couldn’t look him in the face.  His cheeks reddened even more to the point he just couldn’t stay in the room a second longer.  Awkwardly, he stood up, almost knocking the chair over as he did so.  He steadied it nervously before blurting out, “Um, I should get you something to eat, my dear.  Raphael said you’d probably still sleep a lot and be constantly hungry after you regained consciousness.  Your corporation went through a lot.  It’ll need a lot of time to repair.”

A hand snaked out to grab his wrist.  “Don’t go.  Please.  You’re all I thought about when I was trapped Up There.  I worried about never seeing you again.” 

The hand left his wrist to stroke the curls at his temple.  Those golden eyes gave him the warmest look as Crowley smiled at him.  “You’re the most important thing in my life, you know.  I realized that while imprisoned.  Honestly I think I spent an awful lot of time all these years causing trouble, tempting and wiling, not just because I had to do my job, but because I wanted your attention.  Hell, negative attention was better than no attention.” 

Now it was Crowley’s turn to blush.  Aziraphale took his hand and just held it against his cheek before giving it a series of small kisses.  Crowley drank in that small test of affection.

“What if we end up ruining our friendship?”  asked Aziraphale, not letting go of Crowley’s hand.

Crowley leaned forward, his lips lightly touching Aziraphale’s at first before turning it into a full-fledged kiss when the angel didn’t back away.  Their fingers curled around each other’s.  Crowley’s free hand ended up in Aziraphale’s golden hair, stroking the tight curls.  Best of all, Aziraphale reciprocated.  His eagerness to return the kiss showed Crowley he wasn’t going to ignore his own emotions anymore.

“Let’s ruin the friendship,” replied Crowley.  “I think I’d rather be more than just friends.”

 

~*~*~

 

“You sure about this?  I have the energy to if you truly are,” Crowley asked several agonizingly slow weeks later when he was halfway healed from his ordeal.  Recovering from nearly having his life force sucked out of him was a long process that had tested Crowley’s patience.  But progress was being made despite the annoyance of his human body requiring human things to return his occult spirit to full strength.  Now he no longer required copious amounts of rest or constant meals.  Aziraphale had been thankful he could just miracle food up whenever Crowley required it.  Otherwise, he would have been spending a lot of his time in the kitchen over the past month.  Both of them were used to eating, and sleeping in Crowley’s case, when the whim took them, not having to deal with the demands of a body that needed regular feeding and naps.  It was an experience the pair was glad was coming to an end.

The visible effects of Eden were becoming mere memories as well.  Crowley’s pallid skin took on a healthier glow, the slash on his cheek had healed completely without a scar and his black wing feathers were slowly fading to the silver shade that marked him as belonging to neither Heaven nor Hell.  Since his powers were needed to heal less visible hurts, he was taking his time changing his wing color, putting little bits of power into it whenever he could spare it.

His chest-length, corkscrew-curled, amazingly red hair was all that really remained unchanged, making him look positively angelic.  Since human hairdressers could never style it to his vainly exacting standards, he was not wearing it in the stylishly messy shorter length he preferred lately.   He planned to change it magically after his wings.  It was a testament to the amount of trauma he’d been through that showing his neutrality was more important than appeasing his vanity. 

But Aziraphale knew those angelic curls would be gone one morning when he’d greet Crowley, although they were a gorgeous reminder of simpler times.  It would be a craps shoot what hair color Crowley would decide upon.  He alternated mostly between that fiery shade of red and black.  He heavily favored the red since the invention of sunglasses; probably because of the compliments the unusual color garnered him.  It appeased his ego.  On very rare occasions he went with a honey blond, although that never lasted more than about two to three months at a time and showed up maybe once every few decades or so, maybe longer.  But he never went with brown.  Aziraphale wondered if that was his original hair color before he Fell or if he just hated the shade, but decided it was better to not ask than upset Crowley, who never talked about his history pre-Fall.  He was still the being he loved no matter his hair style, color or reason for having either.

The two of them were sitting one night fairly sinking into the overstuffed brown leather couch, Aziraphale leaning against one of the arms, Crowley leaning against Aziraphale with his legs stretched out across the other cushions.  Crowley’s head was on Aziraphale’s shoulder while the angel’s arm was draped around the ex-demon’s side.  It had become an almost nightly ritual to cuddle like this.  Normally Aziraphale would read while Crowley dozed, but lately since Crowley needed less sleep, they sat and just talked or watched a film together.

This evening Aziraphale had asked Crowley’s opinion on making the relationship sexual.  They had been showing each other small physical displays of affection while Crowley’s human corporation returned to normal, but becoming more intimate was a subject that had not been broached yet. 

“You don’t have to do this for me.  I’m happy right where things are,” Crowley continued. 

Aziraphale didn’t have a sexual side as far as he knew.  In fact, he never failed to become uncomfortable when Crowley talked about his conquests, much to Crowley’s amusement.  Crowley had soaked in enough humanness to develop sexuality a couple of thousand years after he slithered on to Earth.  He had enjoyed a number of shallow relationships with people of all genders and sexual orientations over the years.  Also, he learned never to fall in love, never to stay too long.  The torturous pain of having to watch his lovers grow old and die while he remained the same would have been too much to bear.  It was best just to be happy with the pleasure he could get from serial bed hopping.  Sometimes he envied Aziraphale’s naivety on that particular subject.

He shifted slightly to kiss Aziraphale deeply while the angel ran his fingers through that luxurious flaming red hair as he responded to Crowley’s affection.  His hips rocked against him, making the former demon’s eyes widen in shock.  There was definitely a bulge there.  Aziraphale didn’t ever have a bulge.  Oh, he initially had all the right equipment since it came standard with the human bodies they were issued (although being shape shifters mean they had the ability to sculpt their corporation exactly to their liking), but it was nothing more than just another human body part to be ignored completely since only breathing and a heartbeat were really needed to keep up appearances.  Crowley always figured Aziraphale just got rid of it whenever he had to get a new corporation so he’d have one less thing to worry about.

“Hi there.  You are serious, aren’t you?” 

Aziraphale couldn’t do more than nod.  Crowley, taking this as a sign that he should take the lead, pulled the angel to his feet where he removed his old waistcoat before unbuttoning his rather expensive shirt.  His fingers traced down Aziraphale’s bare chest, making the angel’s breath hitch.  He pulled off his own t-shirt and laid Aziraphale’s hands on his chest, hoping the angel got the hint.  Tentative fingers traced around his nipples eliciting a moan. 

“Bedroom.  Now.  It’ll be easier than on this infernal couch,” Crowley whispered hoarsely.  “I’ll have you yet.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise?” asked Aziraphale as he allowed Crowley to lead him into the bedroom done up in expensive furniture and bedclothes.

“Yesssss.”  Crowley nibbled skillfully up Aziraphale’s ear sending waves of passion through him.  The angel, who had never before experienced such intense but pleasurable sensations before, was about ready to kick himself for being so uptight as far as his relationship with Crowley was concerned. 

He found himself pushed back on the bed, his trousers and pants now missing with one very eager looking ex-demon eying him like he appeared delicious.  Slithering between Aziraphale’s legs, he used that long tongue of his to seductively lick the tip of his erection slowly teasing his way down and back up the shaft several times in a way Aziraphale was enjoying immensely.  A little too immensely.  Things were going to come to a messy, screeching halt if Crowley didn’t slow it down.  He pulled off of Aziraphale’s erection and instead started kissing his way up his body until he got to his mouth where his tongue went to work again.  When that got old, he headed back south to suck expertly on something that got him a different kind of response.  Then back up to erotic kisses when things got too intense below the belt again.

“I never knew it could be this good,” breathed Aziraphale between kisses.  “What should I do to you?”

Crowley divested himself of the rest of his clothes and climbed on the bed beside his lover, positioning himself so Aziraphale could get a grip on him.  He guided his hand there, showing him what he liked.

“We’ll go slowly.  Just explore with your hand, angel.  I’ll teach you about blowjobs next time.”  Crowley threw back his head and moaned as Aziraphale played around down there, rubbing the tip.  He let his own hands wander the angel’s body, stopping momentarily to pinch his nipples.  “You sure this is your first time?”

He couldn’t help himself anymore. He manhandled Aziraphale into a better position on the bed, pinned him down then assaulted him with his mouth, leaving a trail of small bite marks behind him.  His own back was covered in red scratch marks as Aziraphale dug those manicured fingernails in each time Crowley bit him.  The angel was breathing hard in his enjoyment; Crowley moaned with each scratch.  Without warning, Aziraphale found himself invaded, Crowley biting into his neck very gently, nipping along sensitive areas while Aziraphale licked and kissed in return the best he could under the circumstances. 

The demon was tender, taking Aziraphale ever so carefully, enjoying the tight warmth of the angel’s body.  Groping around a bit, he took a hold of Aziraphale’s member, rubbing it while he thrusted as the angel responded with little noises of pleasure and pushed his hips up enabling Crowley to go deeper.  Aziraphale’s hands scratched over Crowley’s back, hitting the spots where his wings connected to his body causing an erotic sensation to race through his body.  Never before had anyone touched that area, never had he allowed it.  He couldn’t risk the inevitable response that came when that happened with anyone but another immortal.  Partially black wings shot through with many thick veins of silver manifested in the room, somewhat folded wingtips brushing the walls.  It felt right with Aziraphale.  He wished he could stroke the exact same spot on Aziraphale’s back and introduce him to the intense, pleasurable feeling that came of it. 

He felt his sensitive primaries and wing bones vibrate slightly as Aziraphale let out a strangled cry the same moment Crowley leaned forward to muffle his own moans in his lover’s collarbones, grabbing skin and biting hard as a hot wetness seeped across both their stomachs.  The vibration increased a hundred fold as his wings violently shuddered with the force of both their orgasms before he collapsed on Aziraphale in a pile of warm skin and soft feathers.  The angel stroked his hair lovingly as he tried to catch his breath. 

“They are such lovely curls.  I wish you’d keep them,” he whispered as Crowley waved the mess away from them and the duvet.  His fingers found their way to the tops of his wings and he stroked along the wing’s humerus, Crowley nearing hissing in contentment.   

“For you I’ll manifest them.”  Crowley cuddled in close to Aziraphale; wings put away, bedcovers magically tucked in around both of them.  “You always did like to brush my hair when it was long.  I think now I know why.”

Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley’s chest, breathing in his scent.  “And why do you think?”

“It was a covert way to express your love,” came the drowsy reply.  Crowley’s breathing was slowing as sleep crept up on him. 

“Yes, I guess it was.” 

Aziraphale lay there listening to his demon’s breathing.  His demon.  Something about that sounded right, even if Crowley wasn’t technically a demon anymore.  Labels didn’t matter.  They were just names for sides, weren’t they?  All that mattered was the happiness he felt laying here with the one being in the world he had ever loved, or ever would.  This was a purer form of Heaven than anything this angel had ever experienced.  In fact, it was nothing short of perfect contentment watching his demon sleep in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I kind of went off on a tangent about Crowley’s hair, but the miniseries went and made him a redhead, much to the delight of this red-haired girl. Although I’ve learned if you cosplay Garden of Eden Crowley, styling your hair in those corkscrew curls is a time-consuming pain in the butt. :)


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